All You Desire
by AngeloftheOdd
Summary: Does anyone really know what they truly want? Snape finds himself remembering his past as he stands before the Mirror of Erised. A little Lucius/Snape, Voldemort/Snape.


**All You Desire**

**By AngeloftheOdd**

How had this come to be? A longing so fierce that it had driven him to the very bowels of the castle. Where half-forgotten relics, covered in graying cloths were tucked away from the bustling world above. Like secret memories, they were kept hidden, waiting for the day of reclamation from one who would dare to venture down the the dark corridors leading to them. Snape knew he shouldn't have come here. That he should just turn around. Leave the dust where it had settled. But he couldn't deny the over-whelming need to pull back the mouldering shroud draping the mirror which stood before him. What would he see reflected back at him?

There had been a time, in his youth, when he thought he had known what he wanted.

A home where love was never wanting. Home. He didn't want to remember that. Home had been a drafty shack of a building with creaky floors and the stale scent of neglect. Where the halls echoed with empty footsteps. Where the silence between he and his father threatened to consume them both. When his mother had died home became a hollow word.

Though he wouldn't say it directly to the old man, Snape laid the blame of her death entirely on his father. He had watched her waste away from a lingering illness that neither Muggle nor Magical doctors could give a name to. Snape knew its name all too well. Despair. She had simply given up on life, even at the cost of leaving behind her son, her only child. For her, death must have seemed a pleasurable alternative to the constant belittling and heavy-fisted beatings dealt by her own husband.

After her passing, most of the fight had left his father. He spent what free time he had away from his menial Muggle job drinking himself into a blind stupor. He was a man who hated all things magical and made no attempt to ask his son about his life at Hogwarts. Snape had learned long ago that there had been no meaningful connection to this man other than his surname. As a child, he had entertained fantasies that one day his mother would whisk him up in her arms and take him to his real father, a great wizard held in high regard by the magical world. But then, he would look in the mirror and see the same long, hooked nose and the same thin mouth, and he knew that day would never come.

On the night of his Sixteenth birthday, he had shattered the looking-glass in his room. His knuckles were sliced badly and he watched as the blood trickled through his fingers and onto the dirty oak-wood floor. He remembered wanting to bleed himself dry, to empty his veins of the same blood as the monster that had killed his mother. That was the moment he had vowed to escape this meager existence and turn his back on the Muggle world and the filth it wroght.

He had wanted Lily. He had wanted Lily to the point that it tortured him. He had dreamed that he would call upon her and, like a prince in a fairy-tale, show her all the splendors of true magic. They would run away together and leave their mundane lives behind them, starting a new life full of enchantment and wonder. But no matter how many times he had envisioned this scenario, the cold reality of how alone and worthless he was sank in.

So great was his desire for her, that he had turned a blind eye to her own wishes. Lily said she was scared of him. Disgusted, actually, by the way he had changed. His supposed friends, she said, were a terrible influence. They were creeps who were only pretending to care about his feelings. Did he really agree with the horrible ideals and attitudes that they flaunted so proudly? She was done with him. Pathetic. Pathetic follower.

Snape had nearly hit her in his anger. Didn't she know that this was all for her? How dare she act so superior and lecture him as if he were a child. He had screamed so loud it made his voice go hoarse. She was a liar. She was too blind to see that things were different here from the Muggle world she had grown up in. Why wouldn't she talk to him? Wasn't it he who had first showed her what magic was? Wasn't she the slightest bit grateful for his friendship? Foolish. Foolish little girl.

He hadn't meant to upset her. He was angry. Angry at himself for having raised his voice. Angry at her for not being able to understand. Angry at the whole world.

Then a calm reassuring voice was telling him not to worry. Had she truly been his friend she would have been happy for him. Proud that he was becoming a real man. That was the problem with Gryffindors, especially Mud Blood ones. They were too weak to accept change. That was why Gryffindor and Slytherin were traditionally enemies. Like the serpent on their coat of arms, Slytherins were constantly shedding their old skin in order to become something better. Lucius always had answers. Snape had wanted to accept them as truth.

"She thinks you're ugly and stupid," Lucius said. "But what else can you expect from those like her? It's her loss, not yours. I know better. I know you. You're beautiful."

He raised Snape's head so that they were face to face.

"Look at me, Severus."

With cool lips, he gently planted a kiss on his friend's forehead.

"Trust in me," he whispered. "Haven't I given you everything you've desired thus far? Have I ever asked for anything in return?"

"You've given me more than I deserve," Snape said, weakly.

"That's not true. You've only tasted a portion of what is rightfully yours. You merely have to ask to claim the rest. If it is love you want so badly, I can give you that too."

His mouth clamped down on Snape's, his small, sharp tongue darting playfully.

Snape pulled away, gasping.

"No. This isn't right."

"But it didn't feel wrong, did it?" Lucius asked, running his long fingers across Snape's jaw.

Snape had never expected that his first kiss would be with Lucius Malfoy. It had happened so fast, so unexpectedly. So soft. So sensuous. The sweet taste of his breath. It certainly hadn't felt wrong at all. It had been exquisite. It wasn't the fact that Lucius was a boy that had made him break from their embrace, but the fact that Lucius simply _was not _Lily.

"I..." he stammered.

"You still wish for her," Lucius said simply.

"I'm sorry."

"If it is her love you insist upon, I'm afraid I can no longer be of service to you."

"Please, don't hate me. I don't want you to leave."

"Oh, Severus, that is not what I meant," Lucius said. "I'm still your friend. And because I'm your friend, I'm going to tell you a little secret. I know someone who _can_ help you. He's a great man. A wizard with powers beyond comprehension and without equal. A man who thinks exactly like we do. I'd really like to introduce you to him."

Snape could vividly recall that evening.

The air was crisp and clean. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he took in the fresh scent of the woods. Gone was the smell of Autumn and its decaying leaves. The half moon glared down casting eerie shadows over the white drifts as he and Lucius plodded onwards to their destination..

"Why such a remote place?" Snape asked.

"For the same reason that you had to wait to come here," Lucius replied. "He doesn't let just anyone meet him. I didn't want to be followed."

He rubbed his arm and winced.

"We must be getting close."

"Are you hurt?" Snape asked.

"I'm not injured. It's the mark. My mark of power."

"Mark of power?"

"Don't worry, Severus, you won't be kept in the dark for much longer. He'll reveal it all to you."

"This man. What is his name?"

"Voldemort. But we call him the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord?"

"He has mastered the Dark Arts."

"How can you be so sure you can trust him?"

"I trust you, don't I, Severus," Lucius said. "You've become quite proficient with curses yourself lately, have you not?"

"I suppose you have a point," Snape answered. "But I have never used them on anyone."

They walked in silence for several minutes. As they neared a clearing, black shapes moving in the distance became visible.

Lucius reached into the pocket of his robes and produced a plain white mask. Snape watched in puzzlement as he placed it over his face and lifted the cowl of his robe up over his head.

"Just a precaution," Lucius assured him. "On the rare chance someone untrustworthy decides to show up."

"Masks and cloaks?" Snape mused. "It seems more like you are protecting yourself from being seen with this Voldemort."

"He has some ideas that the Ministry of Magic may consider a bit radical. But, as I have always told you, not everyone is accepting of change."

The figures were now only yards ahead of them. All were dressed the same as Lucius, except for one tall man. He was standing at the center of the gathering, clearly the focus of all the attention. He raised his hand to silence the others as Lucius and Snape neared.

He had the stance of a nobleman. Upon first glance, his face had all the features of being handsome. A long, clean jawline. A high forehead. Defined cheek bones. Then came the slow shock of realization that where his nose should be, there were only two ugly gashes for nostrils. Lips, thin and reptilian. Skin the pallor of a corpse. But his eyes were what was truly inhuman about him. Red slits, gleaming, like embers in the night.

"Malfoy," the creature said.

Lucius bent down and kissed the onyx ring resting on the spindly finger of the hand held out to him.

"My Lord," he replied.

The snake-man seemingly glided over to Snape. The teenager felt frozen to the spot where he stood. As if he had been paralyzed.

"I see you have brought a friend."

His gaze was piercing. As if he were boring straight into Snape's soul and revealing the secrets buried within.

_"Do not be repulsed by my appearance," _Voldemort hissed.

Snape had the terrible notion that the Dark Lord was projecting the words directly into his mind rather than speaking them aloud.

_"Be calm, Severus."_

How he had come to know his name did not matter to Snape. All he knew was that he was starting to relax simply at this man's mere suggestion of it. Yes, he was a man, Snape realized. The revulsion he had felt earlier was just an example of how naive he truly was. The Dark Lord was not so monstrous. The Dark Lord was misjudged, just like he himself was. The Dark Lord knew the pain of one who was exceptional in an unexceptional world. They were the same.

_"Let me get a closer look at you."_

Snape felt the sensation of being drawn towards him. It took him a moment to comprehend that his body was actually moving forward. Of course he would oblige this simple request.

_"Splendid. Lucius has a fine eye for rare beauty."_

Fingers so cold they burned caressed his face. It sent a jolt of ecstasy down his spine, causing his whole body to tremble.

_"How susceptible you are to my touch."_

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the euphoria coursing through him. It was unlike anything he had experienced before. He became aware of the tightening in his stomach and the ache in his groin.

_"This is but a taste of what I can give you. I can make this power yours."_

He let out a small moan. Though Voldemort was only brushing his finger tips across his cheek, it sent shocks of pleasure through him so intense he feared that he would come right there on the spot.

_"Will you accept my offer?"_

He wanted to cry out that he was more than grateful to acquiesce but all he managed to produce was a whimper.

_"Hold out your arm"_

He readily obeyed, rolling up his sleeve to expose his bare skin. Voldemort took hold of his wrist and placed his other hand on Snape's forearm.

A blur of images shot through Snape's mind. Pieces of the Dark Lord's memory shown in fragmented pictures. Then a flash of green and a mixture of excruciating pain and pleasure blending into white light. Orgasm rippled through his body. He parted his lips in a silent scream.

Then he was on his back in the wet snow. His flesh was black and burnt where the Dark Lord had rested his hand. He could make out the shape of a grinning skull entwined by a great writhing snake. The Mark of Power Lucius had spoken of. He tried to raise himself from the ground and was met with a wave of blackness.

The last thing he recalled before losing consciousness was the satisfied hiss of the Dark Lord and a blank mask, with Lucius' eyes shining through it, staring down at him.

He had wanted out. But there was no going back. No escape from the Dark Lord and his twisted mind games. No escape from Lucius and the sway he held over him. No escape from the horrible visions of murder he had witnessed in the name of progress. That terrible night when, despite all his efforts, he had failed in saving the only person that should have ever mattered to him. How he wished it had been him instead. Had she known? Had she even known that had he only made it there sooner... No. He wanted to forget.

He couldn't bring himself to confront what lay behind the mirror. He fell to his knees, hot tears streaming down his face. How long had it been since he had allowed himself to remember?

"Oh Severus."

A comforting, familiar voice rang through the emptiness. A firm hand helped raise him to his feet.

"I thought I'd find you here."

"I'm sorry Head Master," Snape replied. "I shouldn't have disrespected your wishes. I shouldn't have come down here."

"Did you find what you were looking for, Severus?"

Snape looked into the deep blue eyes of the man who stood before him. Reflected in them was an understanding much more profound than words could ever express. A fatherly love that never judged. Compassion that never once hinted on pity. All he had ever desired.

"Yes, Head Master," he said. "But it was never to be found down here in the first place."

"I'm happy to hear you say that. Now, would you care for a cup of tea?"

Dumbledore dimmed the lights as they ascended the staircase.

"You always seem to know exactly what I need, Head Master. Thank you."


End file.
